Member Poem

Shall I scratch out your name on our love tree?
The tree is sick, our love has turned into a sad plight.
Shall I cut the tree down at once and burn the root?
The blossoms reek wounds, infested with gloom.

Don’t wait for winters, it hardly survives the spring,
where the sun nurtures, the wind is light and caring.
Too many fruits are never a burden for a tree,
but too much love is often too much to bear.

Some clouds that are heavy with rain
shall immediately pour out their pain.
Some eyes that can no longer hold tears
must make the cheek a path for those rolling shears.

The quiet breeze shall now be a broken love’s spell.
The bleak looking moon is where our lost hopes dwell.
I beg the Grim not to take our love’s life,
but he warns me not to challenge his might.

Now, I need not scratch out your name.
The tree itself is vanishing.